Isn't It Beautiful?
by TheSincerestSin
Summary: Somewhere along the way, symmetry came into the equation and I grabbed onto it, believing it to be my life preserver. But as it brought me to the surface, it dragged me down deeper than I have ever been before.
1. Isn't It Beautiful?

**A/N: Kid's point of view. Italics = dialogue. Most are things he heard his mother say, although there is one or two parts from another person. I think I made their voices distinct enough to figure out who its from, but if not feel free to message me with any questions. **

My mother was a tidy person. As she pattered about the house, she would repeat in a voice as soft as silk, "A clean house is a nice house." In times when the urges begin to consume me, I find myself repeating the same mantra in my head. Long ago, at a time in which I am not certain, clean became skewed to include symmetry above all else.

_A clean house is a nice house. A clean house is a nice house. A clean house is a..._

It was not her obsession, she did not get eaten away by the urge to tidy whatever was left dirty. As a child, my mother gave me an abundance of opportunities to wreck the entire house. She did not get mad, or even unhappy, when the inevitable occurred. She simply paused before grabbing a cloth and beginning the ritual habit of cleaning. She took pleasure in the act of turning something back to the way it was before.

"_Dirty to clean, clean to dirty, and back again. Everything can change, Kid, given the right amount of work and discipline."_

Years before I was old enough to go to school, Mother and I would go around the house doing any necessary chores. Sometimes, she would reach down her hand and grab my own, as if to reassure herself of my presence. Other times, she would be content to watch me run ahead of her into the next room, already starting on whatever was next on the list.

"_Its easier if you make a list. Then once you memorize it, you already know what to do. Doesn't that sound easier, Kid? Come here and we'll make a list together..."_

Even when I was too young to fully express my feelings with words, I wanted to impress her. She would talk to me carefully, outlining what she wanted me to do. Simple acts as dusting became competitions of will as I concentrated as hard as I could to do it right. My hands would shake with the effort I put on them but it was worth it for that smile she would bestow upon me when I was done. I'd lift my head, gazing directly into her gentler, kinder eyes. The smile would come effortlessly and when she talked it always sounded as if she wanted to laugh. Looking back, I realize that smile came even when my small body had failed me and I didn't deserve such a token.

"_Absolutely perfect. I couldn't have done it better myself, Kid. Mommy is so proud."_

Even when it was time for me to start school, and then training, the ritual would continue on without me. As I grabbed my books and headed to the door each morning, I would sometimes catch a glimpse of my mother as she went about doing the laundry. I couldn't help pause for a moment and wish that I could stay with her. Weekends became the only time in which I was able to partake in the activities with her again. Soon, even that was taken away as training became more and more of a priority. Although she never outwardly said it, I always felt she missed our time too.

"_Your father is only doing what he thinks is best. And he thinks that more training will do you good so I think you should do it too. There is always more time later..."_

I was strong. Even from such an early age, no one could deny the power that lived inside me. My father worked me restlessly, trying to draw the power out from within. When I had made a break through with my training, I could feel the pride that my father had for me. I knew I had made him happy and, in doing so, had made myself happy. But feeling that pride in my father, only made me miss my mother more.

"_That's great, Kid. No, nothing is wrong. I'm just tired. I think I'll go to bed early."_

It was time to go to school and the list hadn't been started. I should have known, I should of turned and looked for her. How could I have left that day without seeing her? If I had I run up the stairs I might have been able to make it. Make it for what? Even I don't know.

"_The mother of a shinigami is never meant to survive. In order to carry a shinigami baby to term, the mother has to draw on the power of the unborn baby just to continue living. As the shinigami grows older, the power that was borrowed must be returned. Without it, there is nothing left. I'm sorry, Son."_

My mother died on the day that her bed was left unmade. She died with dirty dishes in the sink, and dirty laundry still in the hamper. This is as far back as I can pin the obsession. Just by remembering that day, I can feel it growing inside me like a virus I may never be rid of. If I had made the bed, or done the dishes, then the outcome could have been changed. This logically flawed line of thinking makes it hard to make it through the day.

"_A clean house is a nice house. A clean house is a nice house. A clean house is a..."_

Slowly, the obsession took over my life. I couldn't leave for school until the list was done. Everyday it seemed to take longer to do everything and then double, and triple check it. I resorted to waking up earlier until I was barely sleeping at all. Cleaning was all that mattered. Somewhere along the way, symmetry can into the equation and I grabbed onto it, believing it to be my life preserver. But as it brought me to the surface, it would drag me down deeper than I have ever been before.

"_First you fold the paper in half. Then you take the paint and draw on one side. Good job. Now, you close the two sides together really fast. Thats it! Now open it, Kid. See? Its perfectly symmetrical on both sides. Isn't it beautiful?"_

_**A/N 2: First Soul Eater fanfic :) I had a blast writing it. As you can tell, this is in the anime world only. I remembered thinking about Kid's mother as I watched, thought it was a fun idea and ran with it. I also have a second part to this that I might upload if anyone wants to read it.**_


	2. Isn't It Sad?

"_Never meant to survive... considered a great honor... she knew what was expected..."_

I couldn't accept that someone would choose such a fate. It didn't, and still doesn't, seem plausible for someone to sign their name to a deal in which their death is a certainty. Shimigamis are god's, the very balance of life and death placed in their hands, and are treated as such. Even my own friend's would sometimes rectify their behavior when reminded whose son I was. Still, it felt like some invisible line had been crossed and I wanted nothing more than to go back to a time when that barrier was still there.

"_People are going to try to tell you a lot of stuff, Kid. For some, its their job to fill your mind with information. But sometimes this can make it really confusing and you might feel as if you don't know what to believe. Just remember this... Mommy loves you very much."_

When my body had been forming and growing inside of hers, had she been able to feel me sucking the very life from her? Had she regretted her decision, the dreams of things she would never be able to do driving her from sleep? Did she look at me and see something of her creation or the very symbol of her death?

"_Being scared isn't something to be ashamed of. Letting the fear or doubts in your mind doesn't make you weak. True strength is admitting when you're scared to death."_

Sacrifice. I hate the very word, I wish I could erase it from my vocabulary as well as my mind. Sadly, it was this word that I see clearly when thinking of my mother. Her life was sacrificed for mine. Her life was officially ended the moment mine began. When I dream I still see her smile through the eyes of a five year old. So bright. So pure. Why didn't she hate me?

"_Did you pick your book yet? Well hurry up, and come snuggle with your mother. Now lets see, where to start? Once upon a time..."_

My dreams often morph into nightmares, occurring so suddenly it pulls me from sleep in a matter of moments and keeps me up long after the sun rises. Even after all these years, the dream is eerily the same. I can only describe my feelings as being bittersweet when thinking about this. The dream starts with me waking up with my mother's face looming above mine. I am much too young to go to school, and she has come to wake me up. She knows how much I hate it when she starts the list without me. I scramble out of bed and I get to witness as she smiles and laughs at how eager I am to help her clean. That laugh sounds exactly the same.

"_My, my, I am so lucky. I must have the only son in the whole world who wants to help his mommy clean. Shall we start?"_

She holds her hand out to me, and I rush up to take it, her much bigger palm closing around mine. Throwing me one more smile she drags me out of my room and into the huge mansion that waits to be cleaned. It is at this point that the dream changes. The door to my bedroom seems to act as a portal into my own nightmare, as soon as we cross the threshold I am thrown into a place I am unable to control. My mother is still there with me, her hold on my hand tightening until I wince from the pain. When she turns to me, her smile is gone. I can see every tear as they fall from her eyes to land on our intertwined hands. Her mouth is moving but it is so hard to hear her over the pounding of my own heart. And when the noise leaves and my hearing returns, her words cut me like a knife.

"_I had dreams too, Kid. I wanted to do so much! How could you do this to me? I just wanted to live."_

I can hear the words, spoken in a voice softer than a dove's wing, whether I am awake or sleeping. Sometimes, in my happiest moments, the words sneak up on me, stealing my breath. When I lay curled up on my bed at night, unable to return to sleep, my eyes searching for symmetry even in the dark, my mind wanders. I think about when it will be my time to find a bride, someone to carry the next death god, and wonder how I will be able to do it. Will I be able to pretend, like my father, that I am signing a marriage contract instead of a death certificate?

"_I wish I could to tell you this when you're awake and looking up at me as if I know everything, but I can't. I know it would only confuse you more and its impossible to explain. Someday, I'm going to hurt you really bad. Just know that I wanted you. More than anything in the world, your mommy wanted you."_

**A/N: For now, thats all for this story. Someday I might take this a step further and create a story for it. Someday.**


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